Bad Ideas

[Flint]

(Post taken from Discord play, 2/4/2019 in the channel "the-asshole-flint").
-------------Arcus Valley Apartments Security Cam-------------------------

The sun was setting. His shadow was long on the landscape when he stepped out to greet the silver BMW that was parked up front. He walked around to the driver's side, putting one hand on top of it as he leaned down and talked. The conversation between them looked tense, there were quick hand motions before he stepped around, opening the door to sit in the passenger seat.



There wasn't too much to discern from it. There was only the usual body language. Flint spent most of the conversation looking out the passenger side window while the driver talked. In some ways it looked like a father chastising their son. When he responded it was agitated, one hand moving like an axe, up and down or sweeping left to right. Then there was nothing. They sat like audience members, staring ahead at an empty theater.



The drive stroked him with the back of two fingers, from the top of his check into the hollow and then stopped at his jaw, his hand retracting. Flint looked at him, his nostrils flared and then he got out of the car, immediately going back into the apartment complex.

[Flint]

(2/5/2019,log of play between Flint and Monte)

-------------Arcus Valley Apartments Security Cam-------------------------

[Camera 10 - Parking lot - 10:50 AM] Mid-morning, clouds in the sky and a low dense fog is blanketing the earth. There is a hazy outline of a man of small stature wearing an olive green coat with brightly colored patches of orange, red, lime green, blue and yellow. He approaches from the west, and appears to be in a hurry.

[Camera 25 - Building 2 lobby - 10:52 am] Camera zooms in on the same man. Dark, curly haired, olive toned, thin. Facial recognition complete. Aaron Montgomery identified. AKA Monte.

[Camera 3 - Building 2 East Elevator - 10:55 am] Same man, hands in his pockets. He's glancing around and grimaces. A brief smile appears and then a look of disgust as he moves to the other side of the elevator. He picks his nose and wipes it off on his denim clad thigh. Elevator doors open. Monte exits.

[Camera 105 - Building 2, Floor 37 Hallway - 11 am] Monte walking down the hallway, hands back in his pocket until he reaches the fourth door on the right. He pauses, then reaches up to knock on the door. The door opens after a short wait and Monte goes inside. The door closes behind him.

When the door opened he was greeted by an off-hours Flint. Shirtless, he was clad with tattoos, his chest dominated by a mandala that was the pattern that decorated him halfway up the throat. His cotton plaid pajama bottoms was loose, the fabric worn smooth and comfortable. His faux hawk wasn’t styled, just a wreck of dark locks that hung to the right side of his head.

“Next time, only at night.” He stepped back, giving Monte the space to enter his place. He already knew where everything was in the place. That it immediately opened up to a living room where a couch faced a flat screen. The kitchen was small, also part of the living-dining area of the apartment. He turned around, bare feet scraping the ground as he walked to the counter. He had a scale and some plastic baggies.

“How much did you want? Also, I made gummie bears if you want those instead.”

When he followed Flint inside his breath caught in his throat and he remind himself that they were only friends now. He could look, but not touch. And even being a few feet from Flint, he could only admire, silently, from afar. He sighed and shook himself out of. "Yeah well we both work at night and you disappear. What's a guy to do?"

He walked over to the couch and flopped onto it as if he owned it. "So, remind me why I have to pay now? Is this like one of those "art classes" where they give you the paints and t-shirts but after a half hour they take the paints away and make you pay to finish your t-shirt that is now fucked up unless you can buy the paints to complete the design?" And yes, he used the air quotes. "Coz that's some fucked up shit man."

“Because you don’t buy your friends dinner, you buy your date dinner.” He wet his lips and started separating the stems and seeds from the bud, looking at Monte once as he sat down and then back to the task at hand. He blinked twice, trying to clear the fog of sleep away as he worked. He continued, “You tend to give the people you’re in bed with food, money, weed, whatever. I can’t afford to hook up all my friends for free. Hard to believe, I know.”

He reached for his grinder now that they were in manageable bits and twisted the cap three or four times before looking at Monte, “Didn’t answer the question. How much did you want?” The television screen was glowing. He was watching some cooking TV show.

Monte leaned back into the sofa, and folded his arms over his chest as he watched and listened. He frowned but that was only because he was interested in the process. Flint's words no longer stung, and he wondered if it would piss Flint off to know such a thing.

"I thought we could smoke together? Or do we have to be fucking to do that, too?" It came off with much more snark and sass than he intended. "I mean, would you like to share one or two joints and I'll take some of the gummies. How much?"

Flint arched a brow and looked at him over the wide curve of his shoulder. He was on the verge of saying something but Monte had corrected himself already. Monte continued to talk in vague terms. one or two and some of instead of actual amounts. That was fine, if he wasn’t going to define it then he would define it for him. He used the blade of his hand to sweep what he’d prepped onto the scale. A few more pieces were added and then he put it all in a plastic baggie. Ten gummies went into a separate one and then he grabbed his bowl, knocking out the old, black particles, using a napkin to sweep along the inside of the bowl to tug some of the tar out of place. It didn’t need to be spotless. He packed the bowl and then moved, sitting on the couch by Monte.

The weed and gummies were dropped on the coffee table, “Forty,” he said, flicking his lighter. The bowl was his, he focused on getting it lit and then, taking a hit, he offered it and the lighter to Monte, “You can have some of mine.” That was one way to start a morning. His place absolutely reeked of it now, of freshly broken marijuana and now the smoke. Some found it unpleasant but it never bothered him. It made him think of naps and snacking. He’d hit the gym later.